


Progressives

by JoMarch, RyoSen



Series: Partyverse [8]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarch/pseuds/JoMarch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyoSen/pseuds/RyoSen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Super Tuesday is rapidly approaching; can Susan Douglas-Radford win the Democratic nomination? ? Story 8 of 10 in the Partyverse. Spoilers through season two.</p><p>Originally Posted: 17 March 2002.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Progressives

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Many of these characters are not ours. Many of them are. Too many to list, in fact.
> 
> Thanks: To many people, including Emily (duh!) and the rest of the Bartlet4America staff. For cracking us up. Oh, and the stalking didn't hurt, either.

**March, 2007**

"Yes!"

Toby rolled his eyes. "CJ--"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" CJ ignored him, choosing instead to do a strange little dance around the lobby of the hotel. Evan laughed, Toni snickered, and Toby glared.

"CJ." Grinning, Toni tilted her head toward the hotel bar. "I'm pretty sure that guy staring at you over there? Reporter for _Time_."

CJ stopped mid-twirl and zeroed in on the indicated man. " _Time_? I didn't know _Time_ was sending--"

"CJ," Toby interrupted. "Could we get back to why--"

"Why I'm dancing my dance of jubilation?"

Evan smirked at her. "Your dance of jubilation? Why have I never seen this before?"

"Because," CJ paused to give her husband a heartfelt kiss. "You bring out a different kind of jubilation."

Still laughing, Evan nodded. "Fair trade."

"Damn straight."

With a pained look, Toby rubbed at his beard. "Could we please get back to the reason behind the ridiculous dance-like movements you're making?"

"Dance-like?" CJ snorted, turning back to Toby, who was watching her with that look she remembered. The one that meant he really wanted to know what she knew, but was trying his best to look disinterested. She decided to tease him a little more. "You've got such a way with words, Tobus."

Toby grimaced. "Are you going to share with the rest of the class?"

CJ stopped, one hand landing on her hip and a giddy smile still in place. "Baker," she answered reverently. She savored the words, lingering over them like she would a gingerbread latté. "Gregory W. Baker is officially my favorite idiot of the year."

Toni raised an eyebrow. "Didn't they decide that already?"

"Didn't who decide that?" Toby asked.

"I don't know. _The Nation_? _Mother Jones_?" Toni shrugged. "Some leftist magazine crowned him moron of the year."

Toby groaned, his voice growing ever louder and grumpier. "That article merely--"

"It implied that he's an idiot," Toni interrupted. "The part where they listed his most egregious factual errors? It read like David Letterman's Top Ten."

"None of which has any bearing on CJ's--"

"Guys," CJ interrupted, amused. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

Toby and Toni held their contentious gaze a moment longer, until Toby caved and turned his attention to CJ. "What'd he say?"

CJ grinned some more. Just because.

"CJ--"

"Okay, okay," she said. "I'm getting to it. Just three hours ago--" She stopped suddenly and glanced around. "Wait, we need the others."

"CJ."

CJ ignored Toby, even though he sounded like he was about to throttle her. "Let's go." She grabbed Evan's hand. "Toby, find Josh and Donna, and we'll meet in Sam's room."

"CJ--"

"You know, Toby, the sooner you stop the complaining, the sooner you'll hear why Gregory W. Baker is an idiot."

"I already know why he's an idiot," Toby groused, even as he guided Toni toward the elevators with one hand on her back. He jabbed the call button, glanced over at CJ, and groaned.

CJ had looped her arm through Evan's and was dancing a little in place as she waited for the elevator.

As the doors slid open, Toby rolled his eyes. "Would you stop that?"

* * *

"Stop that!" Not looking up from the stacks of books and note cards she had scattered across their bed, Donna swatted Josh's offending hand from her breast.

"See, when you said you'd let me watch you work on your thesis," Josh replied conversationally, "I got ideas."

"I can imagine," Donna mumbled, her attention still focused on her work.

"Hot sex with a college co-ed." This time he tried stroking her shoulder and was pleasantly surprised when she sighed and leaned back, settling against his chest. "I was promised hot sex with a college co-ed," he repeated.

"Grad student," Donna corrected him. "And I need to finish these notes."

"So," Josh whispered into her ear, "finish them. After."

"Half an hour more," Donna promised absently as she picked up a book. "Then I'm all yours."

"Promises, promises." He tried pouting. Donna had said it made him look ridiculous; but she usually said that while tearing his clothes off, so he didn't have a serious problem with the "ridiculous" part. This time, however, he didn't get a response. "I'm feeling neglected," he said after a minute.

"You could help with the note taking."

"I really couldn't."

"I have index cards. Color coded. It's fun."

"Right," he said. "Hot sex. Index cards. Really, who can tell the difference?"

"Josh," she sighed, finally looking at him. "I'm on a deadline here. I have to have the lit review in by May first, and--"

"I know," he said, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. "Hand me an index card."

Donna smiled at him. "Really? Joshua, that's so sweet."

"Yeah, that's me -- sweet, sex-deprived Joshua Lyman." This time she noticed the pout. She sat up and turned around, the thin material of her tank top brushing against his chest. He played with the spaghetti straps for a minute. "Donnatella Moss," he said, feigning surprise. "You got a couple of breasts in there. You've been hiding breasts from me!"

She slithered up his body and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You know," she replied, "I always had you figured for more of a leg man."

"Oh, definitely," he said, running one hand along the outside of her thigh. "I'm a big fan of your legs. But the breasts are a treat too."

"They are?"

"Most assuredly," he said, sliding his other hand underneath her tank top until he reached her breast. There was something about the way her eyes widened whenever he cupped one of her breasts that made him almost, well, giddy.

"I'm going to miss this," Donna sighed. "When the campaign's over, I mean."

Those Donnatella Moss non-sequiturs still threw him. "What part do you think is going to end? Because this lamentable obsession I have with your legs and your breasts? I don't see that ending any time soon. And don't get me started on the wonders of your navel."

"Josh, be serious."

"Honestly. I have seen my share of navels, and yours is in a class by itself. It's so cute and round and--"

"What if we win? What if the Governor offers you Leo's job?"

"Leo's retired."

Turning back around, she laid her head on his shoulder. "Chief of staff," she whispered. "You know you couldn't turn that down."

"And you know she'd give that to Toni. They're like Leo and President Bartlet. It's a non-issue. I'm not getting Leo's office."

"You'll get something," Donna insisted. "Leo ran Labor before--"

"A Cabinet position? You think anyone would consider me qualified? As far as the world's concerned, I'm a political hack."

"You're the former Deputy Chief of Staff. If nearly four years in that job doesn't qualify you--"

"You may be biased in my favor," he said, running a hand through her hair.

"I am stating the facts. You'll go into the Cabinet; I'll go back to San Francisco."

Like hell she will, Josh thought. Another separation was not in his plans. "Assuming we win," he said, "the office of press secretary--"

"No."

"After that little stunt she pulled, Carrie's on her way out."

"No, Josh."

"The Governor likes you."

"I'm not ready."

"You always do this," Josh said. "You never give yourself enough credit."

She looked up at him, and he wondered why that solemn expression inevitably made her look fifteen years old. "This isn't me being unsure of myself," she told him. "I'm good. I know that. But White House Press Secretary -- I don't have the necessary experience. Yet. In another eight years, maybe. But not yet."

"Okay then, even though I reserve the right to disagree, not White House Press Secretary. But you've got enough experience to handle, say, a Cabinet secretary's--"

"Also no."

"Why not?"

She sat up and looked him in the eye. "I'm not going through my professional life living in your shadow."

He tried not to panic. "We have always made a great team," he said.

"Yes, we have. And no doubt will again. But I'd like to establish my own reputation, not simply go through life as Josh Lyman's girl."

"Yeah, but 'Josh Lyman's girl' -- it has a nice ring to it. 'Donnatella Moss, girl belonging to Josh Lyman.'"

"Donnatella Moss, woman belonging to herself."

"And where does the aforementioned ruggedly handsome Josh Lyman fit in there?" He was proud of himself; that didn't sound panicked at all.

She laid her head back down on his chest. "The aforementioned attractive-in-a-quirky-sort-of-way Josh Lyman gets exclusive rights to share the private life of Donnatella Moss."

"Exclusive rights?"

"Assuming he wants them."

"He does," Josh says softly. "He does, however, offer an amendment."

"He would."

"Could we make those exclusive rights legally binding?"

She jumped up, her eyes wide. "Legally binding? Does that mean--"

"Legally binding, in this context, can pretty much only mean the one thing."

"Yes."

He pulled her back into his arms and grinned. "So I guess this means you're through with the studying for the night and we can get to the hot engagement sex?"

She was clearly trying to look stern, but the way she was smiling pretty much ruined that effect. "Joshua," she said finally, "this is a beautiful moment we have going here. Don't screw it up."

* * *

Sam opened the door, still holding his cell phone to his ear. He'd finally managed to track Jesse down at the university -- he was in the Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Imaging room, whatever the hell that was -- and now CJ was standing in the hallway and grinning at him. Behind her, Toby and Toni stood, bickering as always, while Evan looked on in amusement.

Sighing, Sam covered the mouthpiece and said, "What's going on?"

CJ beamed at him and stepped into the room. "I am in love with Gregory W. Baker." She laughed a little.

Sam stared at her in horror. "Jesse," he said into the phone, "I'm gonna have to call you back. Apparently there's a thing."

"Isn't it after midnight there?" Jesse asked, amusement in his voice.

Sam glanced reflexively at his watch. "Yeah. I'll call you back later."

"Why don't you deal with -- whatever it is that's going on, and call me tomorrow. I don't want to keep you up."

Sam considered pointing out that he'd barely had time to talk to Jesse all week and he'd really like to say goodnight properly, but CJ was giving him a very impatient look, so he acquiesced. "Okay. I'll talk to you tomorrow." A little embarrassed, Sam turned away and hurriedly said, "Loveyoubye" before hanging up.

When he turned back around, the expression on CJ's face made him throw up his hands in defense. "Please, don't start."

"Okay," CJ said, still smiling widely. "You guys are cute."

"Whatever." Sam turned away from the amused faces of his coworkers and headed for a chair. He dropped down and ran a tired hand over his face. "What's the thing?"

"Baker," Toby answered, very obviously frustrated.

Sam frowned. "I didn't see anything on the networks."

"Neither did I." Toby's tone was decidedly cranky, so Sam turned his attention to Toni. She was less likely to bite his head off; or so he assumed, never having been on the receiving end of one of her tirades. She seemed to save those for Toby. "Did I miss it, or--"

"Ask her," Toni interrupted with a shrug, tilting her head in CJ's direction. "She's holding the information until we're all here."

"Ah." Sam frowned. "Where are Josh and Donna?"

"Not answering their door," CJ replied with an eloquent roll of her eyes.

Sam blinked. That was... Okay, then. "Oh," he said. "Okay, then. What'd Baker do?"

"Yes, CJ." Toby crossed his arms. "Why don't you tell us before I turn you upside-down and shake it out of you."

CJ laughed outright. "I could kick your ass ten ways from Sunday." Evan snickered and settled into a chair. Sam couldn't decide if it was Evan's complete disinterest in politics, or if he just had a way of blending into the edges of the room, making them all forget his presence as they plotted and strategized and, Sam could only imagine, bored Evan to tears.

"CJ." Toby said, in that deadly quiet tone.

"Gregory W. Baker, who, by the way, is my new favorite--"

"Yes, your new favorite idiot," Toni interrupted, making a come-on gesture with one hand. "What'd he say?"

Instead of answering aloud, CJ slid a cassette out of her pocket. "You really need to hear this for yourselves."

Sam brightened. "I've got a tape-player," he said, moving quickly to the closet to unearth it. CJ handed him the tape and he popped it in, cranking the volume. "It's ready?"

"Oh, yes." CJ grinned. "Baker was speaking at a party fundraiser. Big money donors. Ten-thousand per plate. There's no video -- which is probably why none of the networks picked it up -- but there is audio."

Toby began looking less irritated and more interested as the tape started. Sam, Toby, CJ, and Toni stood in a small semi-circle around the tape-player, while Evan remained seated a short distance away. Presumably he'd heard the tape already.

"We've now got nearly 80,000 Americans who have said 'we want to re-elect Gregory W. Baker,'" the incumbent's familiar voice proclaimed. "It's a huge groundswell."

Toby smirked a little. "That's not even one-tenth of one percent. I hardly think that qualifies as a groundswell."

Frowning, Sam did the math in his head. "Yeah, it's about three-hundredths of one percent."

Toni stared at him, amused. "You're kind of freaky, Sam."

"I'm mathematically inclined."

Toby snorted but did not comment.

CJ just glared at them all. "Shut up. Here's the good part."

"I would like to ask Governor Douglas-Radford, who has been levying charges of corruption willy-nilly--"

Toby made a strangled noise. "He really is an idiot."

"I would like to ask the Governor," Baker continued on the tape, "how can it be corruption if no one is corrupt? That is like saying the gang is corrupt but none of the gangsters are. If there is corruption, someone must be corrupt."

Sam gaped at the small tape-player, mouth open. The nerve of this man, who was bought and paid for by his corporate sponsors, to stand up and say--

"It is just plain irresponsible," Baker droned on, "for Governor Radford--"

Toni's eyes popped open. "Governor _Radford_? She's gonna flip."

CJ grinned. "Ya think?"

"Shhh," Toby ordered, his gaze trained on the speaker.

"--to repeatedly accuse phantom politicians of corruption without offering one shred of proof, or one single name."

"Oh, wow," Sam whispered. "This is a gilded invitation--"

"I know!" CJ interrupted, practically shouting in her excitement.

"And yet," Baker continued, his voice winding up to a feverish pitch, "every year, the Governor and her leftist cronies are back, like Glenn Close in the bathtub--"

The noise that Toni made was, Sam thought, quite frightening. He glanced over at her and very nearly took a step back; her face was bright red, her eyes glittering with anger. Sam's gaze dropped to her shoulder, where Toby's hand landed as he stepped closer to her.

Toni took a slow, calming breath. "Did he just--"

"Yes," CJ answered, her glee temporarily supplanted by anger. "He really just compared a female presidential candidate to the crazed stalker in a bad '80s movie."

Toni whipped out her cell phone and flipped it open.

"What are you doing?" CJ demanded.

"I'm calling his campaign manager--"

"No, you're not," Toby interrupted quietly. He nodded slightly at CJ. "This is a percentage bump wrapped in ribbon. If we get him to apologize--"

"His apology will be on the networks," Sam argued. "Then it doesn't look like we're exploiting--"

"Exploiting?" CJ interrupted, pressing stop on the tape-player. "Exploiting what, exactly? He's the one who made the comments into a microphone. It's not like we sent Andrea Dworkin in there with a wire."

Toni ducked her head to hide her grin. "Yeah, but we also can't play the gender card, which is going to be the accusation from the Baker camp if--"

CJ held up one hand. "First, he's the one who brought gender up by choosing a movie that scared the shit out of white male Americans twenty years ago. Second, we don't need to play it that way." She smiled a slow, satisfied smile. "Would you like to hear the rest of the tape?"

Sam couldn't help the grin. This was just too much. Baker made verbal missteps on an almost daily basis; as a private citizen -- and professional agitator -- those gaffes just made Sam embarrassed to live in a nation that would elect such a man to its highest office. But now, as a campaign strategist for Susan Douglas-Radford, a legitimate challenger to Baker, he was all but rubbing his hands together anticipating how he could craft the perfect response, one that would recall Baker's twisted words while emphasizing the Governor's talent at public speaking. "There's more? You're kidding."

"I'm really not."

Before CJ could press play, Toby said, "This is good, but it doesn't help us right now."

Toni glared at him. "What does that mean?"

"This isn't the general election," Toby pointed out. "Yes, the incumbent made an idiotic remark, but he's not running for the Democratic nomination. Right now, we need to beat Haskell, and he's too smart to hand it to us."

Arms crossed, CJ stared balefully at Toby. "Spoilsport."

"We can still use this," Sam offered. "Two-thirds of Americans support campaign finance reform and Baker's got a stranglehold--" he stopped and winced, realizing the unwitting pun when Toni groaned-- "on the wrong side of the issue."

"True," CJ nodded, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. "And my new favorite idiot decided that his audience of corporate tools would appreciate it if he reaffirmed his commitment to soft money."

Even Toby brightened at this. "You're kidding."

CJ shot him a grin. "Not even a little."

* * *

"So I have an idea," Josh said.

Donna opened her eyes, saw Josh looking at her expectantly, and sighed. "I think you've had enough hot sex with a grad student for one night," she said.

"Well, normally I'd disagree." He was, she thought, much too adorable, lying on his side and grinning down at her like that.

"Of course you would," she replied.

"Because, after all, how can you have too much hot sex? Isn't that pretty much a contradiction in terms?"

"Yeah, you can be the one to explain that to the Governor tomorrow. When we're both too tired to do our jobs, you can just say that--"

"However, my idea is not about sex."

"Color me shocked."

"It simply occurred to me that we could do the wedding thing in two weeks."

"What?" Judging from the smirk on Josh's face, Donna assumed he must have wanted her to be as stunned as she obviously looked. "Is there some reason to hurry that I'm not aware of?" she asked.

"We start campaigning in Connecticut in two weeks," Josh said, as though that explained everything.

"Right. And when I was a little girl dreaming of my wedding day, I always pictured honeymooning in the middle of a presidential campaign."

"But the timing's perfect. Everybody's already here. If we wait until after the campaign's over, Sam and CJ will go back to California. Toby being Toby, he'll come up with some excuse to avoid the wedding. So now is good."

"We're just going to show up on your mother's doorstep and announce that we're getting married? This is what you call a good idea?"

"I was thinking of calling her now and telling her, actually."

"Josh, it's 1 a.m."

"She won't mind. She'll be thrilled; trust me," he said as he turned around and reached for the phone.

Donna put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "We have to talk about this whole wedding idea of yours first."

He turned back to face her. "It's a good idea," he said.

"While I will admit that the idea has merit from a personal point of view, from a PR standpoint it's a disaster."

"There's a PR component to our wedding date?"

"While we're working on this campaign there is. We're already dealing with some of the press trying to make the Governor's staff into a story. Then the campaign director suddenly marries the press secretary? The same press secretary who some people believe only got the job because--"

"That is bullshit."

"I know that and you know that. However, it plays badly. It takes the focus off the issues just when we've finally proved that the Governor is a viable candidate. This kind of publicity can only hurt the campaign right now."

It was cute, she decided, the way his whole face just sort of fell when he realized she was right about this. "For the record," he stated, "I'm going to get a second opinion."

"Go ahead. CJ will agree with me." And then it occurred to her -- the absolute miracle of what had just happened. She launched herself at him and kissed him for all she was worth.

"Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment," Josh said when they broke off the embrace, "but what was that for?"

"That," she told him, "was for something I didn't believe was possible -- you thinking about what was right for us before you considered the political ramifications."

"Yeah, well," he replied sheepishly -- or, she corrected herself, as close to sheepish as Joshua Lyman ever managed, "hot sex with a college co-ed has that effect on me."

"Grad student," she corrected him automatically.

"Whatever," he replied. "Can we call my mother now?"

* * *

Although Jed Bartlet projected the aura of a snobbish bibliophile, his favorite guilty pleasure was the History Channel. Discovery and Animal Planet had some good programming, as did the Learning Channel, but Jed was hooked on the History Channel's mini-documentaries with their poorly costumed, hyper-dramatic recreations. Plus, they were chock full of the esoteric trivia he collected like Abbey hoarded small hedgehog figurines.

When he'd left office, though, Jed had also left behind the constant opportunities to badger hapless staffers with random facts. Like, for example, that Napoleon almost certainly died of arsenic poisoning from the green paint on the walls of his sick room. Or that Nero wasn't even in Rome when it started to burn. Now whenever he tried to share some fascinating bit of information, Abbey and the girls wouldn't let him get past "Did you know..."

It's not like he could wander down to the local saloon and harass the barkeep. Damn secret service. And they always pretended they couldn't hear him over all of that important chatter in their earpieces.

The only person who would still listen to him -- or at least pretend to -- was Leo.

Unfortunately for Leo, his early morning phone call caught Jed not only awake, but chock full of new trivia. Trivia about New Hampshire, no less.

"Leo!" Jed greeted him cheerfully. "I was just going to call you!"

"You were?"

"Yes. I saw the most interesting program. Did you know--"

"Sir, it's 7:13."

Jed frowned. "Yes."

"7:13 a.m."

"I'm aware of that."

"Whatever you did," Leo said, amused, "you should send Abbey flowers."

"I do not need to send my wife flowers," Jed retorted.

"Why else would you be downstairs watching--"

"There was a program on that I wanted to see."

"At seven in the morning?" Leo asked, incredulous.

"Actually, it was on at six," Jed corrected imperiously.

"You know, sir, there are these machines called VCRs--"

"I prefer to experience it in real time."

"Seriously, sir, there's a manual; how hard can it be to set the timer?"

"I don't like the timer."

"You don't understand the timer."

"Did you call up here to make fun of me?"

"Not specifically, no."

"All right then." Jed settled more comfortably into his chair. "Did you know that Paul Revere rode through the streets of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to warn Americans that the British soldiers were coming?"

"I think I've heard this one before," Leo remarked acerbically.

"New Hampshire, Leo. The Granite State. The place where men are men and--"

"Yes, sir. I got it. New Hampshire."

"In 1775."

"Okay," Leo agreed. "Sir, there's something--"

"That's a full year before the start of the Revolutionary War, Leo!"

"Oh, no," Leo groaned. "Sir--"

"That's right, Leo. A year before Lexington and Concord, four hundred brave citizens of New Hampshire--" Jed ignored the strangled sound from Leo-- "took Fort William and Mary -- the only time a seacoast fort saw fire, incidentally -- and absconded with stockpiles of gunpowder. Gunpowder, I might add, that was more than likely used in the Battle of Bunker Hill, a battle which some historians now believe occurred not on Bunker Hill after all, but--"

"Sir!" Leo yelled. "Josh and Donna are getting married."

Jed blinked a couple of times.

"Sir?"

"My name is Jed, Leo. Jed."

"Whatever, sir. Did you hear what I said?"

Jed grinned a little bit. "Josh and Donna are getting married," he mused. "Well, who saw that one coming?"

"Pretty much everyone."

Jed chuckled. "No, but I mean after Josh's disappearing act--"

"Yeah, he's lucky she took his sorry ass back."

"Back?" Jed repeated, stunned. "You mean Josh and Donna were--" He frowned, unable to come up with a suitable euphemism.

"No," Leo said. "They weren't actually -- They never--" Leo paused. "I think it's best if we avoid specifics."

"Good plan," Jed concurred. Then he started to grin. "So did Josh call to--"

"I talked to Adira," Leo answered, his tone suddenly flat.

Jed frowned. He'd hoped that Josh and Leo could make peace; they'd missed each other over the years, and they'd made some good progress at Liz's party. But he knew Leo better than to press the issue, so he merely asked, "I bet Adira's excited."

"She's over the moon," Leo said, excitement creeping back into his voice.

"Josh and Donna," Jed mused, his concern about the state of Josh and Leo's relationship taking a temporary backseat to his surprise over Leo's news. "Married."

"Yup," Leo confirmed, and Jed could tell he was grinning.

"So I guess we should make plans for a trip to--" Jed stopped. "Where the hell are they going to end up?"

Leo didn't even hesitate. "Washington, DC."

* * *

"One morning," Sam muttered as he unlocked the door, "just one morning, I would like some privacy."

Josh and Donna beamed at him, looking much too cheerful for 6 a.m.

"Guess what?" Josh asked as he strode into Sam's hotel room. "Donna and I are--"

"Josh, would you wait until everyone's here?" Donna asked.

Josh looked around. "Yeah, where are they?"

"In their various beds, I would imagine," Sam replied sourly. "Sleeping like normal people."

"We can sleep after the election," Josh responded. "Meanwhile, they're all missing out on the news."

"What news?" It must be the early hour, Sam decided. He was usually much better at decoding The Hidden Language of Josh and Donna.

"The news we're not divulging until CJ, Evan and Toby get here."

Donna gave Josh one of her "you are in so much trouble if you say another word" looks. Sam nodded, relieved that his mind was beginning to interpret nonverbal signals again.

"We could tell Sam first," Josh suggested. "Sam's going to be best man anyway, so--"

"What?" Sam asked, sure he'd misheard that last remark. Yeah, it was way too early. He turned to Donna. "Did Josh just say--"

"So it would seem," Donna replied. "Although I'm beginning to rethink the wisdom of that decision. Come to think of it, no decision I reached last night is legally binding. If, in the light of day, I realize that there are better ways to spend my life than putting up with this--" She waved a hand in Josh's direction.

"Hey! I resent that," Josh responded. "And, anyway, we've already called my mother. Statements made to Adira Lyman are the next best thing to legally binding, believe me."

"As much as I love your mother," Donna began, "that hardly constitutes a good reason to do this."

"There are plenty of good reasons," Josh continued.

"No, no," Sam muttered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Don't mind me. This isn't, like, my private space you're invading here."

"Name one," Donna said to Josh.

"I believe I gave you an excellent reason last night," Josh said. "Multiple excellent reasons, in fact."

"You guys really don't understand the phrase 'too much information,' do you?" Sam asked.

"Marriage is about more than sex, Joshua," Donna said.

"Did I say it wasn't?"

"No, but if you arguments are all based around the number of--"

"For the love of God, there's a third person in the room!" Sam snapped.

* * *

Although decidedly not a morning person, Toni forced herself out of bed around six so she could read as many papers as she could get her hands on in... Well, wherever the hell they were. She groaned, flipping on CNN as she wracked her brain to recall what city, or even what state--

Delaware!

Right.

Not that it mattered all that much, considering she'd be leaving Delaware that very morning on that damn bus. Still, it was a relief to know her mind wasn't totally shot.

Toni kept one eye on the scrolling bullet points as she dug through her bag, searching for the elusive comfortable-yet-presentable sweater she preferred for long days of travel. Then she caught "presidential hopeful Susan Douglas-Radford" scrolling along the bottom of the TV screen and nearly tripped over the covers she'd kicked onto the floor as she moved to get a better view.

Too late. Toni sighed and dropped down onto the foot of the bed, determined to keep her eyes on the damn TV until the bullet slid past again. Her cell phone chirped and she muttered "Goddamnit" and leaned back, refusing to lose her line of sight as she stretched for the phone on the nighttable.

"Toni Timian," she answered, annoyed.

"Toni, why the hell is CNN reporting that the Congressional Women's Caucus has released a statement defending me?" Susan Douglas-Radford demanded. "Did I do something that requires a defense last night while I was sleeping?"

Well, Toni thought, at least she didn't have to wait for the damn thing to scroll again. "That's poorly worded," she answered.

"And they misspelled 'statement,'" the Governor added dryly. "None of which really answers the question--"

"You didn't do anything," Toni interrupted. "Donna will take care of the wording. The Women's Caucus isn't so much defending you as they are admonishing Baker."

"Ah," said the Governor. "Another gaffe?"

"Yes."

"At my expense?"

Toni hesitated. She really didn't want to have to hear the ranting that would no doubt occur the moment she told the Governor that Baker called her "Governor Radford," never mind the Fatal Attraction thing. It wasn't going to be pretty. She really wished that damn CNN could've done a thirty-second story instead of a confusing bullet point.

"Well?" Douglas-Radford pressed.

A knock sounded on her door, and Toni jumped off of the bed in surprise. "Are you here?" she demanded, staring at the door as she wondered if she was going to have to endure the impending explosion in person.

"What?" the Governor asked.

"Never mind," Toni answered, crossing to the door. She peered through the peephole and saw Toby standing there, holding about seven newspapers.

"Toni?" Douglas-Radford asked.

"One second," Toni answered, covering the receiver with the palm of her hand as she swung the door open. "Hi!"

Toby gave her a skeptical look. "What's that for?"

"What's what for?"

He gestured at her face. "That look."

Toni rolled her eyes. "You're so cheerful there, big guy."

He grimaced. "Please don't call me that."

Pointing at the papers, she asked, "What're those?"

"Fatal reaction," he answered, almost grinning. "The Congressional Women's Caucus spanked Baker, along with the Feminist Majority, NOW, and the Women's Leadership Coalition. No response yet from Baker."

"Excellent." Toni reached for the newspapers, belatedly realizing she was still holding the cell phone. "Oh, shit."

"Problems?"

"Yeah." Toni glanced down, evaluating her pajamas. Luckily, she'd slept in a t-shirt and plain navy blue pajama pants. "Listen, I've got to find Donna."

"Right now?" Toby asked, looking her up and down. "You don't have shoes on."

"She's, like, seven doors down," Toni shrugged off his observation. "But I need you to do me a favor."

"What?"

Toni inched past him, pushed him into her hotel room, and pressed the phone into his hand. "Tell the Governor what Baker said? Thanks!"

Ignoring his loud protests, Toni practically ran down the hallway.

* * *

"So." Donna perched cross-legged in the edge of Sam's bed and stared up at him. "You're all right with this?"

Sam, emerging from the bathroom fully dressed except for the tie he held in his hand, stopped in his tracks. "You guys just don't understand the concept of personal space, do you?"

"Sam, really, I need to know you're okay with this. That you're not, you know..." Donna's voice trailed off.

"Playing the role of the sad yet supportive gay friend?" Sam suggested with a grin.

"Yeah, that."

Governor Douglas-Radford's difficulties in the primaries notwithstanding, Sam reflected, they all seemed to be doing quite a bit of smiling these days. He had noticed his own tendency to walk around with a ridiculous grin of his own ever since he'd admitted to himself exactly what it was he felt for Jesse.

"No, Donna, I am not putting a brave face on things while I secretly pine away from unrequited love for Josh Lyman."

"Are you sure?" He watched with amusement as Donna studied his face for any clues about Sam's state of mind.

"Very sure. I have Jesse, remember?"

"Yes," Donna acknowledged, "but I always thought Jesse was just your Joshalike."

"My what?"

"Your Joshalike. Your person who is as much like Josh as you can find." She was, Sam noticed with interest, blushing. "Not as good as the real thing, but close enough to be one hell of a temptation."

And just when you think you know everything there is to know about The Twisted History of Josh and Donna, Sam thought. "You had a...a Joshalike?"

"Yes. No. Well, maybe. Okay, two. Sort of. But I can't talk about the first one."

"It's okay." Sam sat down on the bed next to Donna and took her hand. Over the years, he thought, he'd had some damned awkward conversations with women, but this had to win the prize for The Strangest Discussion Sam Has Ever Had In the Privacy of His Bedroom. "After Seattle, it was only natural that you'd--"

"Well, the first one was before that, but let's not go there. What I was really thinking about was this guy from school. I had a couple of Poly Sci classes with him and, god, he reminded me so much of Josh. It wasn't that he had frizzy hair or that his eyes were the right color. In fact, he was a redhead and his eyes were blue. But he would get so passionate in class about all the right issues. I used to pick fights with him just so I could watch him argue."

"And you slept with this guy?" He wondered how, despite all their weekly lunches, Donna could have kept this from him.

"I went out with him a couple of times, and I thought about sleeping with him, but no. Ultimately, I decided it wasn't fair to him. To sleep with some guy because he reminded me of Josh, it seemed too much like using the poor man. Not to mention that I didn't need a repeat of the Cli -- never mind. Anyway, when I saw Jesse, I thought, 'Aha! Sam's found himself a Joshalike.'"

"No, Sam's found himself a Jesse. And it took being around Josh again for me to realize how lucky I've been that Jesse didn't give up on me long ago."

"So you're thinking this thing with Jesse is permanent?"

It was strange, Sam thought, that he'd never put it in those terms, not even to himself. He supposed that, somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd been afraid of jinxing the relationship.

"Yes," he said, to himself as much as to Donna. "This is serious. I want to spend the rest of my life with Jesse." He noticed Donna's skeptical expression. "Not because he reminds me of Josh. While I will admit that there are some superficial physical similarities--"

"He does that thing," Donna noted, running a hand through her hair to demonstrate. "Freaked me out the first time I saw that."

"Well, superficial resemblances aside, Jesse is nothing like Josh."

"His hair is the same color as Josh's," Donna pointed out.

"Well," Sam conceded, "it's possible I'm attracted to a specific physical type, which Josh and Jesse both fit. However, Jesse is not Josh: The Pink Triangle Edition. For one thing, Jesse actually listens when you talk to him."

"Hey!" Donna protested. "Josh listens."

It was Sam's turn to look skeptical.

"Okay," Donna conceded. "Usually he listens. After a certain amount of cajoling and the occasional raised voice. Although the best way to get him to listen is to grab his head and make him look you in the eye. But you can get him to listen if you try hard enough. You can even change his mind."

" _You_ can change his mind," Sam corrected her with a smile. "The rest of us just figure Josh had to be a Democrat because the party symbol suits him -- he's such a stubborn jackass. Jesse, on the other hand, doesn't feel the need to win every petty little argument. Nor is he in love with the sound of his own voice."

"That," Donna said with a smile, "may be because Jesse's voice isn't nearly as appealing as Josh's."

"Jesse's voice is better than Josh's -- much deeper, more masculine. Very seductive."

Dear lord, Sam thought, when had this happened? When had he become so comfortable with the thought of Jesse as his lover that he could sit here playing "my boyfriend's sexier than your boyfriend" with Donna?

"Jesse," Donna countered, "has spindly little arms."

"Josh is losing his hair." Sam paused, then reconsidered his words. "Okay, that might be a blessing--"

Donna did a credible imitation of CJ's Death Glare. "Don't diss the hair," she said. "Don't ever diss the hair. Which he is not losing. His hairline's just receding a little."

Choking back a laugh, Sam countered, "Jesse actually understands superstring theory."

"Josh..." Donna began. "Well, yeah, he doesn't really understand it, but he gets so excited when he talks about it that he's cute to watch."

"Best of all, Jesse is not competitive."

"Isn't that just another way of saying that Jesse is dull?" Donna asked.

"No, he's laid back. Centered. At peace with himself. Qualities that I find sexy as hell and that Josh noticeably lacks."

"Thank God," Donna muttered.

"Jesse," Sam continued in the tone of someone about to win an argument, "has no ego."

"I'm so sorry," Donna replied, a horrified look on her face.

Sam couldn't speak for an entire minute, doubled over with laughter. "I like the lack of ego," he finally managed to say.

"Why?" Donna looked sincerely baffled.

"I just do," Sam replied. "He's uncomplicated, and he's open with his feelings--"

"Josh can be--"

"With you maybe. With the rest of us, hardly ever. Josh is definitely high maintenance, and I have learned over the years that I prefer low maintenance kind of guys. Besides, Jesse doesn't give a damn about politics."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"There is more to life than who wins an election, Donna."

"That depends entirely on your perspective. Because the outcome of this race affects--"

"You know," Sam said in between laughs, "you sound more like him all the time."

"I really don't."

"You really do."

"I'm my own woman."

"Yes," Sam agreed, "you are. But you're a woman who shares Josh's view of the world. Look, I want the Governor to win. I want to get her message out there to the voters. I think the issues are important. I even occasionally enjoy campaigning. But not for itself, you know? For the camaraderie. For getting to work with Toby again. For getting paid to write. But I couldn't spend another four years in the White House, watching us compromise on the big stuff just to move Congress one baby step to the left. And I need to be settled. Don't you miss your home? Don't you long to sleep in your own bed?"

Donna considered this for a moment. "Not that much, no. I'd rather be doing this."

"Well, good. Because I doubt Josh could give up any of this if he tried." Sam shook his head. "What if you guys have kids? Do you realize that you'll be bringing them up on a campaign bus?"

He'd always thought that when writers talked about someone "glowing with happiness," it was a figure of speech. Human beings did not literally glow.

Donna was glowing.

"I know," she answered. "Is my life perfect or what?"

* * *

It was amusing in a way, Donna thought. A few hours ago, Josh had done everything short of hauling her ass to the nearest justice of the peace, and now their brand-new engagement seemed to have slipped his mind.

She wondered what it said about her that she found his absorption in Baker's latest faux pas adorable.

"NPR has this?" he finally asked.

Donna, sitting in her usual seat next to Josh's on the campaign bus, nodded. "They played it on _Morning Edition_ , complete with a sound clip of Glenn Close shouting about not being ignored."

"So the upside," Josh mused, studying the transcript of Baker's remarks, "is that, not only does the Republican incumbent sound like a complete fool, the country gets to hear him sound like a complete fool."

"The country has heard him sound like a complete fool before," Toby pointed out. "They voted for him anyway."

"Against Hoynes," Sam remarked, absently looking at his watch. Donna noted with amusement that Sam had acquired the habit of glancing at his watch every five minutes, as though he could will time to pass faster so it would no longer be the middle of the night on the West Coast. Jesse, she realized, had a much more considerate lover than she had. Josh wouldn't think twice about calling her up at 4 a.m. if the mood struck him.

Of course, after taking into account all the other ways in which Josh was a considerate lover, she wasn't about to complain.

"Speaking of Hoynes," CJ started. Evan, struggling with his laptop, bumped into her and she yelped, rubbing her arm. Donna and CJ had both needed to get TB tests prior to tour of the domestic violence shelter on the Governor's schedule in two days, and CJ's dread of needles was second only to Josh's. CJ winced; apparently her arm was still sore, although Donna suspected half her pain was psychosomatic and the other half was related to the subject of John Hoynes. "Speaking of Hoynes, isn't it interesting that he hasn't endorsed a candidate yet?"

"Who would he endorse anyway?" Sam asked. "Mooney's too liberal, Haskell's doing fine without him, and the Governor is, well, with us."

"Why would anyone care whether Hoynes endorsed a candidate anyway?" Evan asked. He had stopped typing and was absently rubbing CJ's arm. "He's just a guy who lost an election, after all."

"Neophyte," CJ muttered, but the look she gave Evan clearly told everyone on the bus that she thought his political naiveté was endearing. "John Hoynes is still the nominal head of the party until the convention. Plus getting his endorsement would be like handing Haskell or the Governor the state of Texas on a silver platter."

"Not necessarily," Josh said. Sitting so close to him, Donna could literally feel Josh's body tense up. The mention of Hoynes and Texas obviously brought back his old worries about whether the rest of them would ever truly forgive him for leaving the Bartlet administration after Seattle. She rested one hand on top of his for support. He flashed her a brief, grateful smile and turned around to face the others. "Hoynes' endorsement might help Haskell, but I doubt it would do the Governor much good. Lots of Southern Democrats, including Texans, are pretty much the last remnants of the old Democratic Party. You know, the 'we're against Lincoln and all he stands for' Democratic Party of a hundred years ago. They just hold on to Democratic Party membership because they have really long memories and equate Republicans with abolition and the Civil War. We're talking about people who wouldn't vote for a liberal female candidate if their lives depended on it. Those are the voters who still care what Hoynes has to say."

"So you're saying that the Governor has no chance of winning Texas?" Evan asked.

"Pretty much," Josh replied.

"Never mind Josh," Donna told Evan. "He has to complain any time we start talking about campaigning in Texas."

"True," Sam agreed. "In fact, with that attitude, it's no wonder that we lose the state every time."

"I'm just asking whether we have to campaign in Texas," Josh said.

"Let me think about that one, Josh," Donna replied. "Thirty-two electoral votes, thirty-two delegates to the convention. The state of Texas might prove useful to us, I'm thinking."

"I'm just saying that nothing good has ever happened to me in the state of Texas," Josh replied.

"Josh is right." Toby's voice echoed from the back of the bus.

"See, Toby, what you guys don't understand is -- Wait! Did you just agree with me?"

"Yes, Josh, I did. Campaigning in Texas is a waste of time and money, two resources that are in short supply here. We have no chance of winning the Texas primary. We should be putting our dwindling resources into the East coast states. Or possibly Illinois. States that we have a chance of actually winning."

"We've been through this before," Toby," CJ said. "Texas is important for a number of reasons."

"None of which will matter because we'll be lucky to break thirty percent," Toby replied.

"But if we could get an endorsement from Hoynes--" Sam began.

Toby snorted. "Because we know he thinks so highly of us."

"Yes," Sam countered, "but they still love Hoynes in Texas."

"There's no accounting for taste," Toby replied.

"It couldn't hurt to set up a meeting," CJ argued. Evan had gone back to writing, and she rubbed her arm again. "Damn, I hate needles."

"Why the hell should we even bother?" Toby asked. "Hoynes couldn't even deliver Texas in '98. I doubt that his endorsement would win the state for a liberal woman -- a liberal, pot-smoking, bunny-burning woman -- now."

"This is the home stretch, Tobus," CJ said. "It's the bottom of the ninth inning. It's the fourth quarter, and all those other sports metaphors you guys love. We need to try anything we can."

"But not in Texas," Toby insisted. "And not with John Hoynes."

Josh was, Donna noticed, uncharacteristically quiet. He was, no doubt, working himself into a good funk involving the last presidential campaign and the resulting three years of hurt feelings. It was, she decided, time for a little good news.

"You know," she said, looking at Josh, "this might be the time to mention that other thing."

Josh apparently didn't even hear her. "Hoynes will never endorse the Governor," he said softly. "He blames me for losing him the election last time."

"Josh," Donna prodded. "The thing, remember?"

"Well," Sam said, "that's ridiculous. Hoynes shot himself in the foot. People saw him as turning on President Bartlet. They don't respect that in a leader. He reinforced all the stereotypes about politicians and smoke-filled rooms there. He should have known better."

"Absolutely," CJ added. "If you couldn't win that election for him, he didn't stand a chance in hell in the first place."

Toby simply looked Josh in the eye and nodded solemnly.

Honestly, Donna thought, it was ridiculous how much effort it took to convince Josh that all was forgiven. She rested one hand on his back and smiled. "You know," she said conversationally, "since you're so convinced that nothing good's ever happened to you in Texas, maybe we should do something to reverse that trend."

"No way can the Governor win," Josh repeated, but he was smiling at her now.

"I wasn't referring to politics. I was referring to something else."

"And again I'm begging you guys to become familiar with the concept of too much information," Sam muttered.

"I mean," Donna continued, "I'm sure there are some perfectly nice places to honeymoon in Texas, so as long as we're getting married anyway..."

"You're what?" CJ screamed. "When did this happen?"

"This morning," Josh answered absently. Turning back to Donna, he asked, "Texas? Really? Because we'll be there way before November. And you said that was a problem."

"I'm willing to compromise," Donna conceded. "Provided CJ doesn't think it will turn into a thing."

"Oh," CJ said. Donna could see the other woman mulling over the political ramifications in her head. "Okay. Let's wait and see where we are after Super Tuesday before we make any final decisions about when to do this."

"We?" Josh asked. "Since when did my wedding turn into a communal decision?"

"Josh, please," Toby said. "Considering that we spent years living in fear that you would end up marrying someone like Mandy Hampton--"

"Not to mention Amy Gardner," Sam pointed out.

"We've all earned our status as consultants on this matter," Toby finished. "Although I suppose an unbiased consultant would point out to Donna that she is definitely marrying beneath her."

Donna beamed. "Thank you, Toby."

Josh gave an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, yeah, this whole engagement thing is going to be real fun," he muttered.

* * *

Adira Lyman stood, impatient, by the service entrance of then Renaissance in Greenwich. Her son was, as always, running late. And the only person who had ever been able to keep him on schedule was no longer his assistant in any official capacity and therefore not responsible for curbing his last minute tendencies. Or so she had told Adira when she called to say they were running late.

Before Adira could stop grinning absurdly at the Georgia O'Keefe painting that had been hideously matted with linen -- linen! -- a familiar voice greeted her. "Adira!"

Adira turned to Donna, whom she hadn't seen in almost four years. They'd kept in touch, of course, but you couldn't hug an email. "Donna, my dear," Adira said, pulling her in for a long hug. Then she held Donna at arms' length and examined her. "You are too thin; I was hoping it was just the TV."

"Actually," CJ Cregg interjected, stepping forward to offer her hand, "the camera adds ten pounds."

Adira used CJ's proffered hand to tug her into a hug. Then she grinned up -- far up, considering the former press secretary stood almost a foot taller than her -- at CJ. "You look wonderful, but then I hear your husband's a wonderful cook."

CJ mock frowned. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

"I don't think that's possible," Josh interjected. "You're like -- Ow!"

Adira gave Donna an approving look. "My dear boy," she said, "never discuss a woman's weight."

Josh looked honestly confused. "But you just--"

"Don't question it, Josh," Susan Douglas-Radford opined, grinning. "Just listen to your mother."

Josh rolled his eyes. "Oh, this is going to be seven kinds of bad."

Donna nodded and gave him a little pat on the arm. "You're probably right."

Adira squeezed Donna's hand and stepped forward, favoring Susan Douglas-Radford with a warm smile. "Governor Douglas-Radford, I've heard wonderful things about you." Douglas-Radford shook Adira's hand, her grip firm but not obnoxiously tight like many insecure men -- and, yes, some overzealous women -- Adira had encountered in the political sphere.

The candidate smiled. "Believe me when I say I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you, Mrs. Lyman."

"Please, call me Adira." Before Douglas-Radford could reply, Adira turned to the young, petite black woman standing unobtrusively off to the side. "You must be the Governor's Secret Service agent."

"Yes, ma'am," the woman answered with a small smile. "Keisha Jones."

Adira glanced around at the group and nodded quickly. "Okay, I think we're about ready to get this show on the road. First of all, allow me to apologize for the cloak and dagger act, but this is quite an unusual situation. Candidates have toured the women's center before, of course, but given the strict secrecy surrounding the locations of the shelters themselves..."

"We understand," CJ assured her. "The forms are in here."

Adira accepted the plain manila folder and tucked it into her backpack. "Thank you, CJ. A formality in this case, but the confidentiality agreements are finally protected under Connecticut state law--"

"They are?" the Governor interrupted, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Adira brightened. "At long last the legislature succumbed to common sense--"

"Otherwise known as Adira Lyman's powers of persuasion," Josh interrupted, giving his mother a proud smile.

Adira blushed a bit and waved off his compliment. "There were many people involved in the lobbying effort; Joshua is far too kind. At any rate, it is now a crime for anyone who knows the location of a domestic violence shelter to divulge that information to anyone."

"That's wonderful," Douglas-Radford said.

"Yes," Adira acknowledged. "It was a harder battle than you might imagine, but..." She shrugged. "Anyway, I thought I'd give you all a brief overview of our shelter system before we leave."

Donna, CJ and Susan Douglas-Radford all nodded, Keisha looked like she was interested but trying to stay out of the conversation, and Josh just grinned proudly at his mother. He had, after all, heard this many times before. Adira ran through the basics on domestic violence -- one in three women would experience some form of domestic violence in her lifetime, many women were ashamed to ask for help because of societal expectations, the only common denominator amongst domestic violence victims was their gender -- that sort of thing.

The Governor frowned. "There's no socio-economic factor at all?"

Adira shifted a little, leaning back against the wall. "It's very hard to judge, to be honest, because of the necessary secrecy surrounding calls to hotlines and shelter residents. The best answer I can give you is: We don't think so. Among the women in our shelter, more of them come from lower class backgrounds than middle or upper class, but that may be because upper and middle class women often have more than one way out of their situation. They can buy a plane ticket, withdraw some money, and flee. Or they can run to relatives who can afford to take them in. Lower-class women -- especially lower-class women with children to support -- often are economically imprisoned. Sometimes their only escape route is through a shelter system."

Douglas-Radford nodded. "Okay. What do you mean by shelter system?"

Adira grinned. "We actually have three shelters. The first shelter -- the shelter we'll be visiting tonight -- is the crisis shelter. When a woman in immediate danger calls our hotline, or when a woman calls asking for shelter because she's ready to leave, she goes to the crisis shelter, which is a forty-five day program. The women attend group and individual counseling, they have access to free legal, job and house-hunting assistance, and help filing for ConnWorks, which is the state's new name for welfare."

CJ looked impressed. "That's wonderful. I always kind of thought the shelters were more like... I don't know, like homeless shelters, I guess. Somewhere to sleep and regroup."

"In the beginning, that's all we could offer," Adira nodded. "But our funding has improved--"

"Thanks to my mother's fundraising abilities," Josh pointed out.

"Joshua, would you please stop it?" Adira demanded. "This is not about me."

Douglas-Radford smiled. "It sounds like you've done a great deal to help the women of Connecticut."

Adira shrugged a little. "Not many other people seemed to care."

Donna made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, and Adira took her hand. "Now then," she continued, "after the forty-five day crisis shelter program, the women in our system can either move out on their own or apply for one of our two transitional shelters; one is for women without children, the other is for women with children. Unfortunately, we can only take boys up to age twelve--"

"For peace of mind?" CJ guessed.

Adira nodded. "Yes, the other residents could feel threatened by a teenage boy. Unfortunately, that puts women with teenage boys at a serious disadvantage. There are some shelters around the country that will take boys up to age eighteen, and we can work with the woman to try to get her into one if she's willing to move."

Donna said, "That's wonderful."

"Yes," Adira agreed. She glanced around, then pushed away from the wall. "I think that's enough background. Do any of you have any questions or concerns before we proceed?"

Susan Douglas-Radford answered for them all. "No, I don't think so."

"Excellent," Adira grinned, turning to Josh. "Now go away."

Josh rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, mother."

* * *

Sam frowned at the _New Yorker_ he held in one hand. Donna's contact at the publisher had sent an advance copy to her, but she'd delegated, telling Sam to read the article on Mark Haskell while she, CJ, and the Governor toured Adira Lyman's domestic violence shelter. Problem was, it seemed like it was his turn (or his state, if Josh's rotating states theory was to be believed) to play host to impromptu staff gatherings. In other words, he didn't have anywhere he could go to get away from the incessant bickering of Toby and Toni -- something about PETA and fur coats, Sam thought -- which was making it very difficult to concentrate on the Q &A with Senator Haskell.

"Hey," Toby said, "I like cats as much as the next person--"

"You just said cats are obnoxious and coddled," Toni pointed out dryly.

"They are. Which doesn't mean I want them to be anally electrocuted."

Startled, Sam stared at Toby. "Anally electrocuted?" he repeated, horrified.

Toni nodded, a look of distaste on her face. "To preserve the integrity of the fur, minks and..." she shrugged, "…other furry things are sometimes electrocuted. Which has less than nothing to do with animal testing for medicinal purposes."

"Some of these so-called medical tests--"

"Toby, I'm not talking about sticking mascara in the eyes of bunnies or forcing cats to swallow shampoo," Toni interrupted. "I'm talking about clinical trials to test the efficacy and side effects of new drugs."

Toby crossed his arms in that stubborn way of his and Sam sighed, recognizing that the argument could go on for days. He forced himself to focus on the article as Toby and Toni debated whether the FDA's insistence on human trials before official approval of any new drug did or did not prove animal testing ultimately useless.

Sam tried to concentrate, he really did. But Mark Haskell's fond reminiscences of his days as a thespian (he had played Henry V in college) were exceedingly dull. Sam found himself wishing he could polish Haskell's prose, vary his word choice -- just generally punch up the writing.

"Anything interesting?" Josh asked, appearing suddenly at Sam's elbow.

Sam jumped a bit, one hand gripping the edge of his chair. "Don't do that," he ordered.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me."

"I didn't sneak. There was no sneaking," Josh protested. "My approach was merely drowned out by the Collegiate Debate Team over there."

Sam carefully straightened the crumpled magazine. "Good. You can referee while I read this."

Toby held up a hand, and Toni paused mid-sentence. Turning to Sam, Toby said, "Did you just say Josh could referee?"

"Yes."

"Were you under the impression that's what you were doing?"

Sam blinked. "Well, maybe not so much refereeing as..."

Toby raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Tapping the magazine with his free hand, Sam decided, "I'm going to read now."

"Good idea." Toby turned back to Toni. "You were saying?"

Toni smoothly picked up her argument, and Sam gave Josh a look. "See what I mean?" he muttered.

Laughing, Josh pushed away from the wall against which he'd been leaning. "Well, I saw the womenfolk off; my work here is--"

"The womenfolk?" This time it was Toni who called a temporary halt to the animal-testing debate in order to glare at Josh. "Were you laboring under the misapprehension that I am not a woman?" Toni glanced at Toby. "One word about my grammar and so help me God..." she warned.

The corner of Toby's mouth quirked; but to Sam's amazement, he didn't comment. He did turn and glower in Sam's general direction, though, so Sam wisely buried his nose in the _New Yorker_ as Josh backpedaled wildly.

The Governor's name caught Sam's attention, and he leaned closer, reading carefully. "Guys?" he called, not even looking up.

They ignored him.

"I wasn't implying that you weren't a woman," Josh insisted.

"Hey, guys?" Sam repeated, glancing over at Toby.

Josh rambled on. "I just pointed out that the rest of the women went on a little field trip. Didn't you want to see what a domestic violence shelter looks like?"

"I've seen one," Toni answered cryptically.

Josh blinked, Toby frowned, and Sam shouted, "Guys!"

"What?" Josh yelled back, giving Sam an exasperated look.

"Haskell talks about the Governor in here," Sam explained, holding the magazine tight to his chest when Josh automatically reached for it.

"What'd he say?" Josh asked, his tone apprehensive.

"Well," Sam answered slowly, rereading the quote. "He said good things."

Toby and Toni finally stopped their bizarre staring contest and turned their attention to Sam. "Excuse me?" Toby frowned.

"Good things," Sam said again.

Groaning in frustration, Toby ordered, "Would you read the damn thing out loud?"

"Oh!" Sam nodded. "Right. The question was, ' _Do you think Governor Douglas-Radford's admitted history of drug abuse--_ '" Sam ignored the strange growling noise coming from Toby's direction-- "' _should disqualify her from holding the Office of President_?'"

"What'd he say?" Josh pressed. He was staring hard at the magazine, like if he only concentrated hard enough, he could make Haskell's answer a good one.

"Well, that's the strange part. I don't understand--"

"Sam!"

"He says ' _First, let me say that the question asked of Governor Douglas-Radford is inappropriate and irrelevant. Questions about moral character, insofar as they illuminate how a candidate would perform his or her duties, are perfectly legitimate. If a story had surfaced about current drug use by a candidate -- a habit that would almost certainly influence the candidate's ability to do the job -- I would have been the first one to question his or her fitness for office_.'"

"Are you kidding me with this?" Toby demanded.

Sam didn't pause. He just shook his head and kept reading. "' _As to the specific situation involving Governor Douglas-Radford, I am appalled that the legitimate press pursued a story on recreational drug use that occurred thirty-plus years ago. I'm quite sure if that same question was asked of the network news anchors and venerated columnists, a good number of them would be unable to answer truthfully without putting their own careers in jeopardy_.'"

"What is he doing?" Toni muttered. "I don't understand why he's defending her."

Sam could have sworn Josh muttered "I do," but when he glanced over, Josh merely gazed back at him, his expression unreadable. "Is there more?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. "The reporter asks, ' _Regardless of its propriety or relevance, the question was asked of Governor Douglas-Radford. Do you think she did the right thing?_ ' And Haskell answers, ' _Absolutely_ \--'"

"What?" Toni squeaked. "I don't believe this."

"' _Absolutely_ ,'" Sam repeated. "' _There is never an excuse for lying to the public. I believe honesty is the best policy, even if the truth sometimes hurts--_ '"

Toby groaned in anguish. "Clichés," he muttered.

"' _Governor Douglas-Radford is an unusual kind of politician, one who trusts her constituents to be just as smart as she is_.' Then the reporter asks, ' _Are you that kind of politician_?' and Haskell answers, ' _Yes, I believe I am_.'"

Toni tossed her hands up in the air. "Well, I'm totally lost."

"' _So why should the voters choose you?_ '"

"Oh, God," Toby muttered. "Here it comes."

"' _Because I can reach across the aisle and revive the spirit of bipartisanship that's been lacking these last three years. I have a history of working with Republican Senators, Independent Senators, and Libertarian Senators to do--_ "

"So not bipartisanship so much as multipartisanship," Toby interrupted.

Josh frowned at him. "What the hell are you--"

"Republicans, Independents, and Libertarians," Toby ticked them off on his fingers. "Which means it's not bipartisan--"

Toni rolled her eyes. "Oh, would you stop obsessing over the damn grammar, Toby?"

Sam just raised his voice and picked up where he'd left off, "' _\--to do the best job I can for the American public_.'" Sam paused, scanning the rest of the text. "Yeah, then he goes back to his stump speech and key phrases."

"I don't get it," Toni said. "Why would he come out in defense of the Governor? She's gaining in the polls."

"Not fast enough," Toby offered, glancing over at Josh. The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

Toni watched them with a small frown and glanced over at Sam, who shrugged, then proclaimed, "It just means he's not scared of us anymore. He doesn't honestly believe we'll beat him, so he can afford to say nice things about us."

Josh shrugged. "And he actually does seem to believe that the Governor's a damn good politician."

"People don't do something for nothing," Toni opined. "What the hell is he after?"

Toby frowned, Sam shrugged, and Josh smirked a little as he answered, "Hell if I know."

* * *

Susan Douglas-Radford stared at the large house that sat on a good-sized lot in a quiet, residential neighborhood and frowned a little bit. She wasn't quite sure what kind of newfangled glass and steel facility she'd been expecting to see, but the large, dark blue Victorian with the window boxes hardly fit her mental image of a domestic violence shelter.

Maybe if there was some sort of chain link fence surrounding it. Or perhaps a ferocious looking dog.

From the driver's seat, Adira Lyman gave her a knowing look. "We like to hide in plain sight."

"This place is gorgeous," CJ commented from her rather squashed position in the backseat.

"Don't get your hopes up," Adira warned, pushing open her door. "Every piece of furniture inside is donated, so you can imagine what it looks like."

Donna, CJ, and Keisha unfolded themselves from the backseat with no small effort. Gas/electric hybrids had come a long way since their introduction in America, but it was still a feat to fit five adult women into one comfortably.

Douglas-Radford followed Adira to the small brick path leading to the porch. "Do the neighbors know?"

"No." Adira glanced back. "Well, I should say that we don't inform them. They may notice the high traffic, but I'd guess they just assume our live-in administrator, Caridad, is quite the party girl."

Adira pronounced the name with an ease that suggested she could speak passable Spanish. Douglas-Radford asked, "Are your services offered bilingually?"

"Yes, we almost always have a bilingual volunteer or staffer around to cover the crisis line, and our other services are generally administered by bilingual staff members. In addition to Spanish, we have staff and volunteers who speak seven other languages, including Russian, Hebrew, and Mandarin."

The five women climbed onto the porch and paused as Adira flipped through an impressive key ring to find the proper one. Donna gestured to the driveway, occupied by only three cars, Adira's included. "Are they not allowed to have cars here?"

"Oh, no," Adira laughed, unlocking the door. "We don't prohibit the residents from having cars. Problem is, if their abusers know their cars, we certainly don't want them parked at the house." She paused, holding the door shut a moment longer. "We had to put a client on a bus to New Jersey one time when her husband found her. He reported the car stolen, and the police let him know they'd found it a block from here. Close call. Anyway, the women with cars park a couple blocks away."

Douglas-Radford glanced over at CJ, who looked mildly nauseated and more than a little angry as she followed Adira into the house. Douglas-Radford entered behind CJ, glancing around at the large living room with its pastiche of second-hand furniture. Whoever had decorated had done an admirable job tying it all together with curtains and some throw pillows.

A tiny Hispanic woman appeared in the doorway. "Adira!" she exclaimed. She wrapped the older woman in a quick hug, then turned to the small group, her gaze settling on Douglas-Radford. "Governor, thank you for coming," she said with a Spanish accent. "I'm Caridad."

Douglas-Radford shook her hand. "Thank you for allowing me to visit."

"Perfect timing," Caridad said. "First, a quick tour. Then you can meet some of our residents. If they agree to talk to you, of course. They may be a bit busy, though," she added, her tone amused. "Tonight is Windows night."

Donna frowned. "A computer class?"

"No," Caridad laughed. "A Window Between Worlds."

"The art program," Adira explained, ushering the group toward the stairway. "We just got it up and running a year ago, but most of the residents really seem to enjoy it."

Caridad nodded. "Yes, and if you're lucky, maybe they'll let you make a piece of jewelry; I think it's beading night tonight."

* * *

When she caught sight of the clock on the wall of the hotel's small bar, Toni groaned. "Toby, it's getting late--"

"We're not done."

She sighed. It really wasn't that late. It just felt late. But she wasn't up for spending the rest of the dwindling night in this dingy little bar arguing with Toby. "Sam kicked us out three hours ago! Josh bailed..." She frowned. "I dunno, a while ago anyway, and I'm tired. I want my bed."

"You haven't agreed with me yet," he answered stubbornly, sipping his Scotch.

The scent of his cigar was making her a little lightheaded. Or maybe it was the two vodka martinis. Either way, she was tired of arguing with him. Well, not tired of arguing with him in general, but they'd debated pretty much every aspect of Why Haskell Said Nice Things about Douglas-Radford, with a few tangential How Baker's Sexist Remarks Would Hurt Him discussions, and Toni really just wanted to talk about something else.

"I'm not going to agree with you, and you damn well know it," she grumbled. "Can I go to bed now, or should I order another drink?"

Toby puffed on his cigar, then blew out a stream of smoke. "All I'm saying--"

"Barkeep!" Toni yelled, a little too loudly, she guessed, considering the pained look on Toby's face.

He rolled his eyes a little. "Haskell's not trying to trick us--"

"Well, then what the hell is he doing?" Toni demanded, exasperated. There was no way he'd said those supportive things about the Governor for no reason, and Toby damn well knew it. To make it worse, she had a sneaking suspicion that Toby understood Haskell's reasoning too, but wasn't feeling the need to share.

"I don't know." Toby trained his eyes on his liquor.

She touched his arm. "But you suspect."

Reluctantly, he turned to meet her gaze. "I do," he admitted.

Her fingers tightened on his forearm. "Well?"

"He's the prohibitive favorite, Toni--"

"Don't tell me things I already know."

"He thinks he's going to win."

She shrugged. "So does the _New York Times_. What does that have to do with defending the Governor?"

Toby sipped his drink. "He wants her endorsement. He's assuming she'll drop out after Super Tuesday, and he wants her to say ' _Mark Haskell should be the Democratic nominee--_ '"

Toni snorted. "That makes no sense."

"Toni--"

"Seriously, Toby -- if the Governor drops out, there is no legitimate challenger to Haskell! Mooney's gone, and the rest of the pack never broke five percent in the polls. If Haskell's the only one standing, what does it matter that the Governor--"

"Her money," Toby answered with a shrug. "If the Governor endorses Haskell, he'll get the money that would've gone to her."

Toni digested this for a moment. Then she wanted to kick herself -- she used to know this stuff. Back when she worked on the Governor's campaign for the House of Representatives, she'd been much better at the maneuvering and counter-maneuvering. But since she'd become Chief of Staff nine long years ago, her political maneuverings had been focused more on legislating policy and smacking pesky state senators and representatives into line.

Or maybe it was just the alcohol making her dim-witted. "Dammit," she muttered. "Sometimes I really hate this."

"Mark Haskell's a good man," Toby said quietly.

"The Governor's better," Toni answered stubbornly, flashing a strained smile to the bartender as he delivered another martini. She swirled the olives around a little, wondering if there was something she was missing in her admittedly tipsy state. "Why do you and Josh keep talking about how wonderful Haskell is? If you're so in love with him, go work for his campaign."

Ice cubes clanked as Toby dropped his glass onto the table. "I agree the Governor's the better candidate," he said, holding her gaze. "But Mark Haskell is the stronger candidate."

Toni chomped down on her olives with more force than was strictly necessary. She raised an eyebrow at Toby, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. "The race isn't over yet, Toby."

"You're right." He downed the rest of his drink. "Strictly speaking."

"Would you stop that!" Toni snapped.

"Stop what?"

"That!" She glared at him. "That thing where you agree with me and disagree with me at the same damn time. It's really irritating."

Toby sighed and rubbed his head in that way he had. Toni had figured out that he only did that when he was really tired or really frustrated. Or both.

"Toni," he said finally. "You're an idealist and--"

"I'm a politician," she interrupted through clenched teeth. God, the man was annoying when he got on his Professional Political Operative kick. "It's hard to survive eight years working in the House and two as the Governor's Chief of Staff and still be an idealist."

"Look, you want the Governor to win. You're her biggest supporter. You've been with her for years, and you know she's the best candidate. I agree with you, Toni. I want her in the Oval Office, or I wouldn't be here. I've had more than my fair share of losing campaigns, and I didn't sign on to add another to the list. But her numbers--"

"The numbers are exactly why you're here, Toby," she argued. "You're the one who says the numbers don't mean anything. You're the one who's subjected us to the endless idealism about first-time voters, and people who've been too sick of the system to vote in the last elections, and how your Get out the Vote program is going to change the electoral process in this country. You, my friend, are the idealist."

Toby laughed a bit before he got himself under control. Then he fixed her with a skeptical look and took another puff on his cigar. "About the voters, maybe," he allowed. "But I've been watching the numbers, Toni, and the four-point bump in turnout isn't enough to counteract the seven-point lead Haskell has. Hell, the new voters aren't even breaking exclusively or even predominately for us; they're pretty much dead even between Haskell and the Governor, which means his seven-point lead stands."

"No," she said. Not because he was wrong, but because she didn't want to hear it. She didn't want this whole thing to be over here, now, before they even got to Super Tuesday. She wanted Susan Douglas-Radford in the Oval Office, dammit, and she wasn't about to let Toby "Crankypants" Ziegler tell her it wasn't going to happen.

Not in a dingy hotel bar in Goddamn Connecticut.

"Toni, Super Tuesday is in four days--"

"No!" She slammed her glass onto the bar, nearly tipping it in her anger. She stared down at the bar for a long moment, not really seeing anything. Then she took a breath, looked over at him, and shrugged. "Not here, Toby."

He blinked at her. "Then where?"

Toni slid of her chair, only slightly unsteady. "I'm going to bed," she declared, ignoring his question entirely. She was going to walk away, she really was, but something about the look on his face kept her right where she was standing.

His eyes watched her even as he crushed the lit end of his cigar into an ashtray. He pulled out a few bills and tossed them on the bar, barely breaking her gaze long enough to make sure he was leaving enough to cover them both. Then he gestured toward the lobby. "After you."

Toni narrowed her eyes, studying him, but she wasn't entirely sure what was on his mind. So she shrugged, turned around, and walked away, trying not to wonder whether he was following.

* * *

CJ had learned long, long ago how to make her six-foot-plus frame inconspicuous. It was actually a handy trick, even if no one else seemed to appreciate it. Leo had once threatened to hold her down and tie a fluorescent ribbon around her neck. Then she'd stepped a little closer and peered down at him until he rolled his eyes and ordered her to sit.

Sometimes when she found herself in unfamiliar surroundings, CJ would just sort of... blend into the background for a while. And if a domestic violence shelter wasn't unfamiliar territory, she wasn't sure what was.

The thing that threw her, though, was how normal it looked inside. Granted, the house had its eccentricities -- the dining room table, for one. The room was almost dwarfed by the large glass table that left little space for people to travel through the room if the chairs were occupied. Speaking of the chairs, each one was unique, painted or mosaiced or stained in what Dena, the art program's leader, had explained was the favorite project so far. Well, except for the jewelry-making.

Which was fairly obvious, actually, as CJ looked around at the diverse group of seven women seated at the table. Adira had retreated to the office, pulling Donna with her; and Keisha, like CJ, stood unobtrusively against the wall. Governor Susan Douglas-Radford, though, sat in a rather ratty, periwinkle blue chair, her hands folded together on the tabletop as she chatted with the shelter's inhabitants, nearly all of whom wore various pieces of brightly colored jewelry.

But still, the most striking part of their visit so far, CJ thought, was just how familiar everything seemed. And the collection of women at the table affected her quite strongly because they were, as far as she could tell, perfectly normal. They were funny and smart and vulnerable and... just like her. They talked and laughed and shared stories and poked fun at each other. They discussed their favorite TV shows and the funniest thing their children had done and how the decisions in Washington seemed completely removed from their lives, even as they assembled more pieces of jewelry.

To CJ's eyes, it appeared that Dena had upended a plastic tub of beads in the middle of the table, and passed out string and small... CJ frowned, leaning closer. Clasps and hooks and hoops to make earrings. Her attention caught on Alecia, a petite white woman with close cropped brown hair and a fading bruise on the side of her neck. Alecia skillfully threaded cobalt beads onto a string, every so often tossing in an off-white bead. She hadn't participated yet, had remained quiet and focused on her project as the women around her asked the Governor questions about everything from her first boyfriend to whether she'd ever met the President. The only sign that Alecia was paying attention was the way her movements grew less controlled when Maria, an exuberant Hispanic woman working on a bracelet, mentioned the trouble she had trying to take care of her young children and avoid going on welfare.

Governor Douglas-Radford, CJ mused, was amazing. She discussed all the issues that the women brought up with grace and an understated eloquence. The Governor commiserated with Tiffany, a middle-aged black woman, over the ridiculous costs of tuition for college; she agreed with Missy, a rather dour white woman in her late 50s, about the difficulty in finding a decent Philly steak in Connecticut; and she joked with Maria about her longstanding crush on Paul Newman.

If CJ hadn't already been a fan of Douglas-Radford, watching her tonight would have convinced her. For the couple hours she stood against that wall, CJ forgot about drug scandals and racist insinuations about her husband, she forgot about polls and numbers and probabilities. It all boiled down to the fact that Susan Douglas-Radford was the right person for the job. She was intelligent, compassionate, and she honestly cared about people.

And people responded to that.

When the Governor got up to leave, she'd ended up making two bracelets, which she presented to Adira with a large grin. And then Alecia, who hadn't said a word during the Governor's entire visit, shyly offered the stunning cobalt necklace to Douglas-Radford. The beads were plastic and the ends of the string poked out a little next to the clasp, but the Governor accepted it with the same reverence she would a string of pearls.

* * *

Toby awoke to the decidedly unusual feeling of something warm and soft touching his bare skin. Startled, he jerked his head to the side to find--

Toni Timian curled up beside him, apparently still fast asleep.

"Oh, God," Toby muttered easing out of bed in search of his clothing. He frowned. How could this have happened, he wondered. He didn't just... fall into bed with coworkers!

Toni opened her eyes and smiled at him just as he pulled on his pants. "Morning, Toby."

Toby paused halfway into his t-shirt.

"'Morning, Toby?'" he repeated, incredulous. "That's all you have to say?"

Toni rolled her eyes. "You're not expecting some sort of critique of your performance, I hope."

Toby stared at her, finally pulling his shirt all the way on. "I don't think this could possibly be more disturbing."

"Why?"

"Because!" He gestured vaguely at her. "We tumbled into bed together last night without a thought to the consequences!"

"I'm on the pill," Toni informed him, obviously trying not to smile. "Plus we used a condom. I think we're good."

That just made him glower more ferociously. "I don't find that amusing."

"You'd prefer accidental conception--"

"I'd prefer never having this conversation!" he bellowed, his hands waving about wildly. "Plus, you're what? Forty-five?" he added absently.

"Women have conceived well into their fifties there, Toby."

"Oh, this is making me feel better," he grumbled sarcastically.

Toni sighed and stretched languorously before pushing herself upright, the sheet carefully tucked around her. "You're lucky I'm not a woman with a fragile ego, Toby."

"Your ego has never been in question," Toby replied, lifting his chin to peer down at her.

"Neither has your temper," Toni remarked dryly. "Calm down."

"I am perfectly calm," he argued.

"I could tell, what with all the shouting and flailing about you were doing."

Toby crossed his arms and glared. "I do not flail."

"Actually, last night you--"

"Toni!"

She grinned at him, unrepentant. "Look, Toby, this is not the end of the world. So we had sex. Damn good sex, actually."

"Yes," Toby agreed grudgingly. He would probably have preferred bad sex, because that would have been a decent excuse to cut this... thing off before it became a problem. But at some point the night before, the incessant arguing and debating had exploded into... well, damn good sex.

"So then what's the problem?" Toni demanded, still perfectly at ease.

Why was she so calm? Why wasn't she rattled about this? "The problem is that this--" He waved his hand around to indicate the air between them-- "can't come to any good."

"You know, I would have expected a writer to phrase that less ambiguously," Toni observed with a wicked grin.

"That was not ambiguous," Toby protested, irritated.

Toni shrugged, still smirking at him. "If I wanted to, I could infer--"

"I beg you not to," Toby interrupted.

Toni held out her hand. "Give me your shirt."

Toby blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Your dress shirt," Toni explained, pointing to where it lay crumpled on the floor near the door.

"What do you want with my shirt?" Toby demanded, even as he retrieved it and handed it to her.

"I want to be able to get up and smack you if necessary," she mumbled, shrugging into the garment and standing, careful to make sure it wasn't gaping open. "And I'm not parading around here naked if you're going to be a big jackass." She caught his eye and gave him a warning look. "Toby, I am in a remarkably good mood right now, which has been to your advantage thus far in our conversation. However, I am on the verge of losing that post-damn good sex languor and kicking your ass."

"And so it starts," Toby muttered.

Toni whacked his arm as she walked past him and into the bathroom.

"Ouch," he commented, almost conversationally.

"Wuss," Toni replied, digging her toothbrush out.

Toby approached the bathroom door cautiously, unsure what, precisely, was going through Toni's head. She wasn't clinging. She wasn't upset. She wasn't kicking him out for taking advantage of her. Toby frowned at her in the mirror.

In the midst of brushing her teeth, Toni caught sight of him and started laughing. She clamped a hand over her mouth and turned on the tap, rinsing quickly. "Toby," she began, pausing to grab a facecloth, "the expression of utter confusion on your face right now is priceless."

He glowered. "Then tell me what the hell is going on!"

She turned to face him, leaning against the countertop. "What is happening is that we had some extremely satisfying sex last night, and you're freaking out this morning out of some misguided notion that I'm going to expect everlasting love or diamond rings or some such nonsense."

Toby's lips pursed a little. "That's not entirely accurate."

"Toby," Toni leaned forward, laying her hand on his arm, "you've got a crush on CJ--"

"I do not!"

She ignored him and kept right on talking, "Which, considering she's happy with Evan, would be kind of sad if you weren't still in love with your ex-wife."

"Andy?"

"Do you have more than one ex-wife?" Toni asked.

Toby blinked. "No."

She let the silence stand for a moment. "I'm sure you'd agree that whatever this thing is between us, it's not eternal devotion. It's chemical. It's..." She shrugged. "Temporary."

"Okay," Toby agreed tentatively. "And by temporary, you mean..."

She smiled, and this time there was no mocking, no sarcasm, just genuine affection. "Oh, I don't know, Toby. I suppose we could just see what happens. In the interests of keeping peace on the campaign trail and all."

Toby found himself grinning a little bit. "In the interests of peace," he repeated, nodding. "I've always been a pacifist."

"I'm pretty sure the word you're looking for there is 'pessimist,'" Toni laughed. "Now get out of here."

"You're kicking me out?" Toby asked, his tone bordering on disappointed.

"You have a better idea?" Toni rejoined, edging closer.

Toby shrugged. "We could argue about the exact definition of the word 'pacifist.'"

Toni grinned. "You wanna argue semantics with me?"

"If that's what the kids are calling it these days, yes."

* * *

For the first few rings, Leo ignored the phone, concentrating on the crossword puzzle. There really wasn't a twelve letter word for pollster, he grumbled. The phone rang again, and Leo looked up and shouted, "Margaret!"

No answer.

Leo blinked, checked the mast of the paper, and realized it was Sunday. Well, that explained the lack of chatter, he thought. Then he grabbed the phone. "Yeah?"

"Nice way to answer a phone, Leo," Josh said.

Leo found himself grinning. "This is my private line. Anyone who knows me well enough to have this number should know that I spend the time between eight and eight-thirty doing the damn crossword puzzle."

"Wow," Josh answered, and Leo could tell he was smirking, "is eight-thirty to nine naptime, or--"

"Josh," Leo growled.

Josh laughed outright. "So by your tone of voice, I'm guessing you're stuck on 37 across."

Reflexively, Leo glanced down at the paper. "I am not, in fact, stuck on--"

"'Psephologist,'" Josh said. "That's with a 'P-S' at the beginning."

"You're really annoying sometimes, you know that?" Leo groused, even as he scribbled in the letters. The word fit. Dammit.

"Yes, the world must be tough for mere mortals."

Leo stifled a chuckle. "Josh--"

"So there's a reason I'm calling," he interrupted, sounding suddenly nervous.

Leo frowned. What, did Josh think he was still angry at him? That he'd put some sort of hex on things? "I know," Leo answered. "I heard congratulations are in order."

Josh paused for a moment. "My mother called you?"

"She did," Leo confirmed, his tone carefully neutral. He'd been a little disappointed that Josh hadn't called himself, but at the end of the day, he was just happy Josh was getting out of that deep, dark hole he'd fallen into; maybe now Leo could go a day without worrying about his former deputy.

With a sigh, Josh said, "I really wish she hadn't, Leo. I was gonna--" He blew out a frustrated breath. "I wanted to tell you."

"No harm, no foul," Leo told him. "It's fine, Josh. I'm just..." He hesitated, uncomfortable, as always, with declarations of any sort. "Good job."

Josh sounded like he was trying not to laugh when he answered, "Thank you."

"Yeah." Leo tapped his pen absently against the paper. "Besides, you were never any good without her."

"You're right about that," Josh answered, accepting the lighter tone with ease. "So I'm guessing I don't need to call the President."

Leo grinned. "No, the President and Abbey know. I'd watch for a congratulatory present of some kind. And Zoey said -- and I couldn't tell you if I'm quoting her correctly, but whatever -- that it's about damn time, and she's gonna be at the wedding."

"I hope," Josh cleared his throat, "I hope you'll consider--"

"Oh, come on, Josh," Leo interrupted. "You really think I'm gonna miss this? Your fan club will be in mourning for months."

"I don't think I have much of a fan club anymore, Leo," Josh said, his tone not bitter, but... accepting. Like he expected people to dislike him.

"Seriously, Josh, anyone who'd drop you for doing what you thought was right isn't your friend in the first place."

During the long silence that followed his statement, Leo wondered if he'd gone too far. Hell, this was the first time in almost four years that Josh had called him, and here he was giving the poor man advice on--

"Thanks," Josh said. "Really, Leo. Thanks."

"Yeah," Leo answered, his tone gruff. A thought occurred to him and he doublechecked the date on the newspaper. "Where the hell are you right now? It's two days before Super Tuesday; shouldn't you be campaigning or something?"

"I'm somewhere over... I dunno, Ohio?" Josh answered. "We're on our way to California. San Francisco today, Sacramento tonight, and LA tomorrow and Tuesday."

"Good plan."

"I have my moments."

Leo rolled his eyes, even though Josh couldn't see him. "Good to know that ego's still intact, Josh. It's probably for the best you're gonna have Donna around for the next fifty years to keep it in check."

"Yeah," Josh answered. "I gotta say I'm looking forward to that."

"You always were a masochist." Leo grinned. "Listen," he continued, talking right over Josh's protests, "I've got a meeting with Lisa Leonard--"

"Yes, Leo," Josh interrupted, "I'll let you get back to your crossword puzzle."

"Good luck Tuesday," Leo answered. He hung up the phone, adjusted his glasses, and fussed with the paper on his knee. And he was still smiling as he went back to work.

* * *

"Strong second."

"Doesn't matter."

"Toby, strong second."

"I'm telling you, Sam, it's over."

"It's not over. We've still got Kansas, Indiana--"

"Do you know why they call it Super Tuesday, Sam? Because it's do or die time. We just died."

Josh refused to participate in the bickering. He squeezed his eyes closed and carefully aligned his vertebrae with the wall, trying to ignore Sam and Toby's argument, the sound of CJ's nails clattering on the polished wood, and Donna's absence.

Toby, however, was getting loud. "How can these people seriously vote for Haskell? How is that possible?"

"He's a good candidate," CJ sighed.

"Not as good as the Governor," Toby argued stubbornly.

"No kidding," Sam shrugged. "But the Governor's a woman."

"Well, thank you for that lesson in basic biology, Sam--"

"Toby," CJ snapped. "It's not Sam's fault people voted for Haskell. It's 2006 and still a lot of people have a hard time believing women can handle positions of power." She grew quiet for a moment, then came the sound of a fist slamming into wood. "God, that pisses me off."

Josh thunked his head lightly against the wall. He'd so hoped the conventional wisdom was wrong.

"Guys?"

Josh's eyes flew open at the sound of Donna's voice. She stood only a couple of steps inside the door, a crestfallen look on her face.

"What's wrong?" Josh demanded, pushing away from the wall. "Did they call Florida yet?"

"No, the western part of the state--"

"Yeah," Josh nodded. "Texas?"

"They didn't call it, but Haskell has a twelve point lead--"

Josh sighed. "Right."

"I just spoke with Jason Bezdek."

CJ's head jerked up and she frowned. "Haskell's press secretary?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Donna's gaze slid over to Josh. "He said that Mark Haskell would be calling you in twenty minutes and he wanted me to make sure you were available."

"What? Our concession speeches haven't been obsequious enough?" Sam spat.

"No," Toby said quietly, watching Josh.

Josh took a minute to digest the news, then met Toby's disgruntled look. "That's not why he's calling. Where's the Governor?"

"In her suite," Toni answered as she appeared in the doorway. "What's going on?"

"Is she alone?"

"Her husband's there," Toni said, annoyed. "But--"

"Good," Josh said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he turned to the door.

"Josh."

Josh halted at the note of censure in Toby's voice and glanced back. "What?"

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Josh's gaze drifted from Toby's glower to Sam's befuddlement, from CJ's measured irritation to Donna's wary hopefulness, to Toni's annoyed look and back to Toby. Josh flashed his familiar smirk.

"Yeah, I know what I'm doing. Let's call it plan B."

THE END

03.17.02

**Author's Note:**

> Authors' Notes: The "groundswell" figures are from a speech George W. Bush gave during his campaign, and the quotes about campaign finance reform advocates being like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction are from Senator McConnell (R-KY), a soft money whore and sworn opponent to campaign finance reform. 
> 
> On a more positive note, [A Window Between Worlds is a volunteer-run art program for women in domestic violence shelters. Oh, and _psephologist_ means 'one who by use of statistics evaluates election returns.' From the Greek psephos, ('pebble') used in voting.](http://www.awbw.org/awbw/anniversary.php)


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